Fell
by arrogantbullyingtoerag
Summary: Twice in his life, James Potter fell.


Twice in his life, James Potter fell—the first of which far outweighed the second. You see, it was something of a _beginning_, and beginnings are much too often overlooked in favour of endings. It's never our first day, only our last; never orientation, only graduation; never New Year's Day, only New Year's Eve. When it is introductions which matter most, why do we—as bibliophiles, as _humans_—fixate so heavily on conclusions? We write them, sing them, _dream _them; forever preoccupied with the end. _This_ is not one of those stories.

This was where it all began.

The significance of this particular occasion cannot be overlooked, for it marked the beginning of the end of the war. It was a Tuesday—and everybody knew that nothing remarkable ever happened on Tuesdays. Still, James Potter had never been much for tradition, and this might very well have been the most important Tuesday in the history of the Wizarding World.

It was not the first time she'd worn her hair that way, or bit her lip a little too often, or even (surprisingly) smiled at him; still, today mattered more—most. It came upon him, without warning or explanation, in the midst of Potions, and never went away. Needless to say, what James Potter did on this particular Tuesday would not only decide the remaining years of his life, but all of his sons, and countless of the Wizarding World at large: he fell in love.

From the other end of the mildewed classroom (an intentional placement—on her behalf, at least), James was unashamedly transfixed by the elegant twist which held the redhead's hair in place. It seemed to him that it caught the candlelight especially well today, and perhaps if Slughorn were to stand by Lily, he could fool himself into believing that all eyes were on him (this was, of course, if he himself could focus, then). James recalled the Prefect having fastened her hair in such a manner the previous Wednesday, and the Monday before that, and on many other occasions he couldn't quite pinpoint. He had acknowledged the style, insofar as it drew the hair from her pretty neck, but there had been nothing particularly _important _about the observation. Today, it mattered more—most.

Similarly, Lily often bit her lip—in Potions especially—and it had been some time since the Quidditch Captain first came to appreciate the absent-minded habit. Triggered by the gesture, James had long meditated on the immeasurable pleasure no doubt involved in snogging one Lily Evans. Today was different. Today, the Gryffindor wanted, not to snog her, but to _kiss _the redhead; to drag her lower lip between his teeth in much the same way she rolled it between her own, and to revel in the breathy moan he imagined (hoped) would ensue. He did not fancy snogging her for his own sake, but _kissing _her for hers. It was a new sensation, to be sure, and one which settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. This was a whole new sort of longing, and it must have registered upon his face because Sirius soon drew the room's attention with a deafening whack to the back of his best friend's head. "Quit staring, you nonce," the boy instructed, but he wouldn't, for today mattered more—most.

Although the fifth year could not—and _would _not—understand why, it did not take him long to understand _what _had changed. It was simple, really; he had—sometime between History of Magic the afternoon prior, and Potions this morning—fallen hopelessly and helplessly in love. James had fallen in _like_ so gradually that _love _caught him off guard; still, it immediately felt a part of him, as though it had been there all along. Lily, her fingers tapping idly upon a copper cauldron, was the same as ever; he, however, was not.

Sirius' less-than-careful nudge alerted the Quidditch Captain to their Professor's gaze, and James met Slughorn's eye with a devilish grin.

"And what have you achieved today, Potter?"

The room looked to him expectantly.

"Academically?"

"What else is there?"

Eyes alight with something other than cheek for possibly the first time whilst addressing his Potions professor, James' lips quirked upwards of their own accord.

"_Worlds_."

Something about his tone, his expression, or perhaps purely his meaning caught Lily's attention, and as the redhead looked to him, she smiled. Today mattered more—most, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut.


End file.
